Expect the Unexpected

Expectations. I believe that when given adequate time to ponder, most of us will try and conjure up a pretty good scenario of what is going to happen, or how something will feel. For the most part, my predictions don't even come close to the real deal. Even still, whether it is just a subconscious effort or not, we all have expectations to some extent.

When I dreamt of what Paris would be like, my brain mixed together all of my favorite films set within the city, and I was certain I would recognize enough to at least navigate a little bit without a map. (That was a pipe dream.) I also envisioned the street where I would live, it would be decked out with cafés and flower shops, and I would feel so small surrounded by those towering buildings. Upon arrival however, I learned that the standard Haussmann architecture in Paris only had around 6 stories per building, and that most streets did not even have a single shop or café on them. So to my fellow daydreamer, future expat, or even just a city hopper looking to get a better idea of the accuracy of Parisian stereotypes before you go, here are the expectations vs. reality that I learned while adjusting to my new life in the city of lights:

EXPECTATION: Everyone in Paris is rude.

REALITY: Everyone in America is overly nice.

If you are reasonably polite and attempt to use the minimal amount of high school French you still remember, the French people will gladly accommodate you! For the most part, they loved practicing their English with native speakers. It was only when American tourists came through and just expected the French to know English, that yes, one could expect to get a little bit of a cold shoulder. But in The States, we just love to talk to everyone. The French are more reserved, and do not feel it necessary to smile at you in passing, or chat about your kids while checking out at the grocery store. It is merely a matter of culture, not kindness. In my whole two years there, I only met one rude French person and even she was not all that bad.

EXPECTATION: France has the best food you will ever eat!

REALITY: Bonjour McDonald's.

I come from a family of amazing cooks, and with my knowledge of French cuisine, I kind of just expected that I would be eating Michelin Starred food every night for dinner. Realistically though, I gained an unhealthy addiction for highly processed chocolate cookies and fell into the frozen meals trap. The good food definitely exists, but keep in mind that the bad food does too.

Another thing to note is that Costco sized grocery warehouses do not exist, rather, there are small supermarkets and épiceries with very limited selections of whatever it is that you are looking for.

EXPECTATION: The streets will waft smells of Nutella, crêpes, and baguettes.

REALITY: I think I picked up secondhand smoke.

Some days I felt lucky if I could go every two or three people without having to hold my breath from all the smoking. Parisians are human chimneys! Do not even get me started on the urine smells, and how much worse they would be on a hot day. To top it off, it is a city. So unless you are in a park, then you cannot smell earth. Just smoke, urine, and car exhaust. Whomever put the idea in my head that Paris smells delicious, I would like to send you to the Pacific North-West with free airfare.

EXPECTATION: Berets. Thin mustaches. Striped shirts with suspenders.

REALITY: Black attire. Scarves. Perfectly coiffed hair.

Girl please, Parisians have so much more style than that! But to be fair, every Parisian's closet that I went through had a striped white and black tee shirt (or two) in their closet.

EXPECTATION: They smell bad, and the women never shave.

REALITY: Hannah in hypnosis.

I do not really know where these stereotypes come from, but I am so glad they are all just a hoax. I regularly missed my turn on the street because I would become mesmerized by the cologne smells wafting from the person walking in front of me. And not only were the women hairless goddesses all the freaking time, but they also managed to shave without needing to reach for the Hello Kitty bandages. Like I said: goddesses. 

EXPECTATION: Lots of dating.

REALITY: Forever alone.

It is the city of l'amour after all, so I had this idea that everyone was constantly trying to woo each other. Makes sense, non? No! Dating is a bigger deal in the United States. In France I found that you only date somebody if you both are already interested in steady dating each other. How you get to that point without going on dates is still beyond me. One thing is for certain: if you fail to find somebody for your own, then you will never feel more single than you will while staying alone in the most romantic city in the world. Trust me, I know.

One final [soul crushing] reality which was really the hardest of all to face...

EXPECTATION: Mimes.

REALITY: Crushed dreams.

Man, I was so excited to see those striped-shirted men with suspenders, painted white faces, white gloves, just performing their act on the streets; walking down stairs without even needing a staircase. But to my dismay, there was not a single mime during my two years in Paris! I truly did not see that one coming.

The biggest lesson I learned about expectations while living in France was that while it is fun to daydream about the what-could-be's, if you let yourself get too carried away with your raised expectations, then one day you will find yourself faced with disappointments. This can be applied to more than just mimes and thin mustaches. For example, while planning trips to new locations, try not to focus too much on everything that you want to fit into your schedule. Instead, pick a couple of must-do's and let the rest happen on its own. France taught me the c'est la vie attitude, and reminded me that it is OK to go with the flow. I learned that by easing up on my predictions and just trying to enjoy whatever life presented me with right then, that the outcome would surpass all of my wildest expectations and create wonderful memories. 

Dream big, live bigger, and expect the unexpected. 

London

Day 1— It was the first time I walked the streets of Paris in french braids, and though the name of the plait is suitable to this country, I felt like an 11 year old outsider. But I was about to be on a bus all night, what else was I going to do? We departed from Bercy at 9pm.

Day 2— We got to the border check around 2am. If you ask me if it took way longer than necessary, then the answer will be: yes, yes it did. We missed our train in the Chunnel (the Channel Tunnel) which consequently meant hanging around at a Starbucks at 4 in the morning. The night was awful, and I got less than 2 hours of sleep all together. But it didn't even matter because we exited the lovely Tube and saw this:

Straightaway we purchased our 3-day Oyster cards for the Tube, which meant we didn't even bother working our way from one side of the map to the other, but instead went where we pleased when we pleased. Sidebar: The Tube is a whole new ballgame for public transport, and completely puts the Parisian metropolitan to shame. In Paris, I wonder on a daily basis how many diseases I'll extract by touching anything. In London, I could have licked the metro floor and still have been fine eating a sandwich afterward. I tip my hat London, you classy people who take baths and use smart lengthy words that put stars in my eyes. ...Wait, where was I?

We dropped our things at our hostel and walked. We found cute houses like the above, and Paddington Cemetery. Eventually we came to Abbey Road where everyone and their dogs were walking across, but there were way too many cars for the iconic Beatles photo remake. We jumped on a bus to Baker Street where we found a happy police man in front of 221b. (Sherlock, anyone?) By this point, hAnger was starting to burn holes in our stomachs, so we found a top rated (but not as good as Seattle) fish and chips joint where I also ate mushy peas! We walked around Westminster Abbey, the banks of the Thames, saw Clock Tower, the Coca-Cola London Eye, and finished up with seeing Admiral Horatio Nelson's statue in Trafalagar Square. He's my relative, you know. The sun set at 4:45pm which was absolutely koo-koo-banana-crackers but we were so tired that we didn't care to put up a fight with the sun.

Day 3— I woke up with this song in my head but it altered to this song as we stepped outside and my feet were soaked in seconds! Either way, Fred was there for me, and my insides were happy. The rain burned off as we got into town bright and early for our vintage, red, double decker, tour bus! We essentially looped around all of the things we previously walked around, but it was even better with our hilarious guide, Allen. ("The building to your right, it was a bank but now it's a pub. That's called progress." —Allen) 

We walked around London Tower and hopped on a boat which took us past Shakespeares Globe and off at The Eye. We jumped back on our bus to go to Buckingham just in time for the changing of the guard! My Australian radar was on, and I met a lovely couple. Wow I forgot how nice it is to speak English. And also be able to eavesdrop. You really forget about the little things, like easy communication when you've lived in France for so long! After our tour, we jumped on another bus which took us 2.5hours west of London to Wiltshire where we saw the ever puzzling Stonehenge. The countryside was beautiful! And the rooftops we passed were rumoured to be the rooftops danced on in Mary Poppins... Hmm..

Our bus driver made it clear he wasn't a tour guide, but that didn't stop him from monotonously tell us little fun facts about the things we passed.  I'm sure people were SO done with his dad-jokes, and only my stomach curdling laughter. (Traffic already backed up at the on ramp for the highway home: "We're not off to a good start................to our right is a pig farm................This is a nice once. Those little domes are their houses........PIGloos.") Stonehenge was amazing, but what I wasn't prepared for was how gorgeous the surrounding scenery would be! Did you realize there would be a flock of sheep just outside of it? Or that as the sun set you'd feel like you were walking on the set of Pride and Prejudice during the Dawn scene? Breathtakingly incredible.

Day 4— By now I'm convinced I'll be living here. At the very least in the U.K. someday. It's gorgeous and people have their crap together. Young families had the most polite children, and who wouldn't want to live in a columned white house with a checkered tiled floor for the outside entry? Oh my gosh it's the dream. We started our day by going way out of our way to Cereal Killer Cafe because, well, CEREAL. It was a dream come true.

Afterward we went right next door for second breakfasts. Because it was cute and they sold pairs of socks in tin-cans. So...obviously? The woman working there was so friendly, after about 30 seconds we were already talking about Thanksgiving plans and if she could join. That may sound weird, but for someone who has been craving friendly store conversation, I loved every second. We enjoyed a cup of tea and were on our way again.

We rented bicycles for the day for £2 and I couldn't help but think about watching old family home videos of Dad and Grandpa's London trip...And how I was here now doing the things they did. We cycled between Green Park by Buckingham Palace, through Hyde Park, near my grandpa's mission apartment, and into Kensington Garden. We couldn't for the life of us find Nottinghill, but I suppose that means I'll find it next time. 

Just as the "sun" (there really wasn't any) was "setting" we got in line for our ride on the London Eye. We saved loads of time by purchasing tickets in advance online. The ride was 30 minutes long, looping around once. By the time we got off, it was dark out, and misting rain. Souvenirs were bought, dinner and lovely conversation were had at Marks&Spencer, and on a whim we scouted out St. Paul's Churchyard and sang on the steps "Feed the birds, tuppance a bag". Before bed, I wrote postcards in the sick-ward (aka, my hostel room) and then fell soundly asleep.

Day 5— On this day we bid the attractive men, the beautiful accents, and the gorgeous scenery, goodbye. Back on the bus we went, but this time in the daylight where we could see beautiful Northern France. 

I can't explain the happy feeling I got any time I saw the adorable black taxi cabs drive on the wrong side of the road, or the plethora of red telephone booths in London. Walking along the nicely lit pier by Tower Bridge, and just being able to take a nap on those cute beds. Even King's Cross Station had the magic in it! ...Gah. It's a trip for the books, that is for sure. London, I will be back.